(Never) The Last Time
by camweasley
Summary: Remus breaks a promise... yet again. Remus x Tonks. One-Shot. Rated M for suggestive language.


He wakes up and quietly groans. This bed is too plush, the room is too saturated with golden morning light.

He stares at the cream colored ceiling for a moment before turning his head to look down.

She is curled against him, chestnut brown hair falling just past her shoulders. Her lips are still tinted bright pink from the lipstick she wore last night. She looks more like a Black in sleep than she does any other time of the day.

He wasn't supposed to stay here tonight. He's never supposed to stay here.

* * *

The first time it happened was after an Order meeting in August.

Moody had just finished enumerating the losses they'd sustained that month, including not only all of the muggles who had unknowingly gotten caught in the line of fire, but a few of their own people as well. Witches and wizards who had pledged themselves to the cause, who were fighting for more than just themselves. Good people that they'd laughed with, eaten dinner with, cried with hundreds of times.

It was too much for anyone to bear on their own. It was too much for Remus. And it was too much for her.

She was standing in the corner of the room, looking so unlike her usual perky self. True, she hadn't been quite the same ever since the Department of Mysteries, but neither had he. Remus had watched as her hair had gone from a vibrant pink to a dull pastel over the course of the meeting. He couldn't help it — she always had a way of catching his eye. So as everyone else filed out of the room, and she continued to stand there, looking like she had no clue what to do next, he resolved to talk to her.

"Alright, there?" he asked, kicking himself for asking such a stupid question.

 _Of course she's not alright, you absolute knob_ , he thought to himself.

She tried to smile, but the light in her eyes, while still there, was too faded to be convincing.

"As alright as anyone could be, I suppose," she said.

He wasn't sure what made him do it. He could have just said "okay" and moved on. He could have left right there. But he didn't.

Instead he said, "I don't quite feel like going home yet. I was thinking about heading to that pub down the street. Just for a pint or two. If you'd like to come along?"

The light in her eyes brightened just a little. "Yeah. That might be a good idea."

And so they went to a small, loud pub in the middle of muggle London where the beer was weak and the patrons too loud. Normally he would've abhorred a place like this, but when he looked over at her, smiling for real for the first time as a ruddy-faced middle-aged man tried to lead the whole pub in a song, he found that he didn't mind the watered-down drinks or the rowdy barflies at all.

They stayed there for more than just a pint or two. They stayed long enough for Tonks' hair to return to it's magenta hue, much to the confusion of some of the people who noticed. They stayed long enough for it to be Remus who was standing on a table, leading the pub in a rousing version of a drinking song Sirius had taught him years ago. They stayed there long enough for both of them to think that the other was very, very good looking, and that kissing was definitely a good idea.

So that's what they did.

Then they went back to Tonks' small flat and did much, much more than that.

And Remus woke up that morning — much like he did this morning — still remembering the way her mouth felt on his, how her legs looked wrapped around him and tangled in her sheets, the soft sighs that warmed and broke his heart all at the same time.

And the guilt. All the guilt.

* * *

As gently as he can, he moves the arm she has flung over his waist, and he tries to replace his chest with a pillow for her head.

She stirs, barely, and as he slips his trousers on and buttons up his shirt, he thinks he may make it out of here before she can protest.

Then she rolls over, and he's so overwhelmed by her that he can't help but stop and stare. She's a perfect mix of gentle curves and sharp edges. How could she be so ferocious in a duel, such a skilled auror, and yet so delicate he was always afraid of breaking her every time they fell apart together? How could she be quick-witted and quick to draw her wand, but more fragile than a porcelain doll all within the span of an hour? How could any one person have the depth, the intellect, the goodness that she had? How could any one person be so perfect?

* * *

The second time it happened was a few days after the start of the new school year at Hogwarts.

He had barely spoken to her since that first night, because there was nothing satisfactory that he could possibly say. Instead, he hid behind excuses: she was probably too busy patrolling Hogsmeade to talk anyway, if people saw them talking they might think something was up, maybe she didn't even want to speak to him. Anything to keep himself from saying out loud the words that had been beating a steady drum in his head ever since he had snuck out of her flat.

 _I'm not good enough. I'll never be good enough._

He tried to slip out of the meeting as quickly as he could, claiming he had work to do with trying to get some other werewolves on their side. It was a lie, of course. He just couldn't bear to be around her, not now that he knew firsthand all that he could never have with her.

"Don't you dare," she said, stopping him in his tracks.

"Tonks, don't do this to me," he sighed.

"You're one to talk."

She looked so hurt that he had no choice but to turn away. If he locked eyes with her then, all would be lost.

"It can't happen again," he said.

"And why not?"

"Because there's a war on. Because our lives are at risk every day. Because I've seen this happen and go badly too many times."

"I don't buy it for a damn second. Why not? Really, Remus, why?"

He shut his eyes, fighting against the burning he could feel coming on.

"Because you're young, and talented, and beautiful, and you could have anyone you wanted, and…"

"And what if you're who I want?"

"I can't be."

"And why not?"

"Because you deserve more than I can ever give you," he blurted out.

There was silence in the room, and for a moment, he thought that maybe she had left. And then… two small hands cupped his face and he opened his eyes to see her standing right in front of him.

He didn't think, he didn't have to. He placed his hands over hers, bent down, and closed the distance between them.

And he woke up the next morning, in her too soft bed, in that too bright room, wondering how he could have let this happen again.

* * *

She opens her eyes before he has a chance to apparate away. He can't pull his eyes away from her, and she looks at him through sleep-filled eyes as she pats the empty spot on her bed.

"You know I can't, Dora," he shakes his head.

"I don't know anything," she mumbles back.

* * *

After the time in early September, he loses track of how often it happens.

It's always the same: the denial and the pushing, the frantic kisses and the leisurely undressing, the way they fit together before he remembers how incompatible they are. The empty promises and the fistfuls of satin sheets and the word on the tip of his tongue that he'll never, never say.

And then the morning comes and he promises he'll never do it again, but he always, always, does.

So this morning, he finishes tying his shoes as she lies there, staring at him through dark, bright eyes, and he tells her the same thing he always tells her — "this has to be the last time." But she doesn't cry like she used to, she doesn't argue, she simply smiles and says "okay."

Because she knows it's a lie. And so does he.


End file.
